


The Highgarden Marriage Bureau

by Isola_Caramella



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1800s, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Westeros, F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isola_Caramella/pseuds/Isola_Caramella
Summary: Lord Jaime Lannister needs a lady wife, the Highgarden Marriage Bureau is the best in the business.





	1. Chapter 1

Lord Jaime Lannister half listened to his secretary read Olenna's response to his acceptance of the Tarth girl. Even as she wrote about the shortcomings of his betrothed, Olenna's protectiveness of the girl was clear enough. Jaime cared not that she was too tall or unused to the simpering courtesies of the King's Landing high born who suckled on power and falsehoods. She was young and by all accounts strong, he needed heirs and a lady wife to manage Casterly Rock, no more and no less. He'd had enough beauty to last a dozen lifetimes.

He dictated his response to Peck and crudely signed two bank drafts to Olenna, one as final payment for procuring his intended wife discreetly and another to secure her passage from Tarth to Highgarden where the charade of their courtship would begin. He'd firmly eschewed the dowry being offered for her hand, having no use for it and he doubted Lord Selwyn's munificence had much to do with the stability of his purse. Like as not it was to bribe some poor sot into requesting his uncomely daughter's hand.

Peck spent the rest of their afternoon going over farm production and reports from Lannisport's dock. There were repairs the dock master demanded be done posthaste to accommodate the growing number of ships coming from Essos and Jaime still had to find a man for the Lannister Bank in King's Landing. He'd been loath to have Tyrion as far away as Crakehall for his studies and doubted he'd be any keener to send him to King's Landing. No, he'd return to King's Landing once he'd seen fit to deposit his new bride as the new lady of Casterly Rock. Baelish had been succor to Lady Lysa Arryn and would soon be Lord of the Vale, the upstart had no more use for the Lannisters or controlling their money.

Baelish had been the least of his worries in the capital, his sister's divorce from Lord Baratheon set every tongue from King's Landing to Winterfell wagging. Caught _in flagrante delicto_ with two lowly soldiers taking refuge from the war in Slaver's Bay as their wounds healed. Another charge of adultery had been lobbied against her by their own cousin Lancel and the House of Lords had dragged the trial on for a week to get out of every filthy detail. Papers couldn't stay on the stands long enough to sate noble or commoner alike. Her decided tumble from grace a bond that brought all together. He'd shown up with a blank visage and deposited her and the children in an estate outside of King's Landing and turned his back on the whole business. She'd seethed that Robert had bastards twenty deep in Flea Bottom alone and expected Jaime to come to her aid. Had he not been sure that at least the daughter was his he'd have let fate run its natural course for his sweet sister.

The pain in his severed right hand clapped him like a blast of fire, Peck stood up immediately to get a small dose of milk of the poppy and water. The boy was efficient by half and Jaime had come to depend on him almost entirely. Peck was the closest thing he'd had to a son and he'd blossomed under Jaime's tutelage.

"Send these to Highgarden today with the courier and book passage on the next train out Peck, I'll be glad to put King's Landing behind us as swiftly as possible." Jaime said through clenched teeth as the pain went off in waves. The filthy air and muck of the city did little for his mood or health. In truth the blind rage he felt at his sisters infidelity pained him more than the missing hand. His years of loyalty and fidelity a fat feast for crows.

He waited patiently for the draught of the milk of the poppy to work through his system and quell the pain, concentrating on a space above the portrait of his father. Had he not died from a fit of apoplexy prior to the recent shame brought upon their great name, this would have pitched him into the ground at a rate of knots. It was everything he had worked hard to repair after his father had lowered the standing of House Lannister, now Jaime begrudgingly had taken over as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, his crime the earliest shame on their great house. Now men came crawling on their bellies to curry favor even as they cursed him behind his back. He was the supposed sister fucker, the king slayer and now a handless, aged lion. Were it not for his gold mines and the hold Lannisters had on banking, he would be a diminished lord of a laughingstock house slated for ruin. He would succeed for no other reason than to prove them all false.

Strong sons had been his father's preferred currency, young men with might who could win wars, be it on the battlefield or on the house floor. Jaime had been his sword hand whilst Tyrion's cunning had served equally. By all accounts his bride was an ox of a woman, as tall as he and not as fair of face, but he needed strength and a woman sired from the lineage of Duncan the Tall was precisely what he required. As the sweet relief washed through him he could only think of his father's sneer that reasonably passed as a smile being bestowed on him.

Jaime felt his pain ebb and heart rate slow as he drifted into a brief respite from his jumbled, poppy addled thoughts. He'd make his way to Highgarden and then back to the Rock, sending for Tyrion to join him. Should the gods prove fortuitous his heir would be well planted by the first moon after his wedding. Cersei had been the only woman for him but he knew he could woo any woman from base to noble with a word and a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely darlings in chat who graciously gave me ideas when I drew a blank.
> 
> Also (if it matters) I do not have a specific year for this fic; steam trains were in use by the mid 19th century per google, Wikipedia and a few great train websites. Roughly it falls between 1840-1900 Westeros :)

Lady Brienne Tarth sat in the Tyrell carriage next to Margaery as they made their way from the train station to Highgarden, she'd met the beautiful woman at her wedding to Renly and had swallowed bile as she watched the two wed. She pressed one long finger into the palm of her hand to keep her petty and errant thoughts firmly checked. Margaery had been the picture of decorum and warmth towards Brienne after the wedding, taking to writing her frequently as though they were truly friends. It would not do to be small and spiteful after being invited to spend a little of the season off of Tarth at Margaery's request.

When the offer had come she'd told her father no, knowing they could ill afford the expense of the passage on first ship and then train. Her father's lady wife had rebuffed her and said of course Brienne must go, she'd never find a husband of her own on Tarth and look, the lovely Lady Baratheon had already secured her passage. It would be the height of poor manners to refuse such a boon. The woman was as clear as glass to Brienne, you've no place here any longer. The wife was of an age where children were still an option, sons to replace her husband's drowned heir, there was no need for a daughter who should be well settled as some oaf's bride.

Brienne's betrothal had ended after Lord Caron had sent notice to her father that his son had perished in the war. She'd spent the requisite year mourning a man she scarcely knew and had only had the misfortune of seeing once the year before her brother had been lost to the Narrow Sea.

Now she sat next to what amounted to her chaperone for the summer, loathe to wonder what horrid plans had already been made. Brienne preferred the quiet of Tarth, where the questioning of her sex, the dismay at her height and the incessant japes all coalesced into a single dull roar. She had refused to go to King's Landing to be presented to court after the disaster of her coming out ball. Only one good thing had come from seventeen years of being miserable in her body and that had been the kindness of Renly Baratheon as he danced with her until the musician left, escorting her as though she were a welcomed addition on his arm. A small ember had turned into a sea of wildfire until the invitation for his wedding had shown up at Evenfall, the absurd hope that he would ask for her hand scattered to the beautiful sapphire waters as she swum until her lungs burned.

Margaery had written to her often of the decadent soirées hosted at her grandmothers estate, replete with vivid descriptions of various eligible lords and merchants. Brienne wondered if the girl had some risible plot to amuse herself watching Brienne the Beauty mingling with men who would as soon put her to work as wed her. The knots in her stomach refused to abate and Brienne held herself stiffly up, smoothing one gloved hand over her skirt. She wished for her diary then, her only true companion. She'd written a thousand stories and dashed each one into fire, no one wanted a woman of intellect her septa had beaten into her head a dozen times. Husbands wanted quiet, docile wives who gave them heirs and sat silently. Silence had been her companion too, an empty estate with ghosts roaming the halls where her family had once been.

"Ren will be ever so delighted to see you. He speaks of you in almost reverence, it sets Loras's teeth on edge honestly. No one can be that bloody noble or trustworthy," she mimicked with mirth filled eyes, slipping her arm into Brienne's. "We'll have to show him what's what. Grandmother is hosting a dinner tomorrow for her guest, a small thing, only family. Have you met Lord Lannister? Devilishly handsome and extremely sought after, Megga is in fits that she has to be presented at court this year."

"Isn't he..."

"Yes, he is, but with a face only the gods could create. He'd be a perfect husband, gone to King's Landing for business often, leaving his lady wife to do as she pleases. If only I'd waited a time longer." Margaery's wistfulness seemed contrived but Brienne said nothing in response. There were no perfect husbands, not for her.

The carriage pulled up along the immaculate rose lined path to the waiting footman who assisted first Margaery and then Brienne down the steps. Her grey skirt showed the strains of travel and she was in need of a decent meeting with a bath. The train stations had little more than a small plain basin for hands and faces, sweat had pooled and attached to her skin in salted blocks after so many days of travel. Highgarden took Brienne's breath away, even in the waning light the splendor of the estate could not be denied. There would be much for her to write about after her time with the Tyrells, already envisioning an Andal invasion over the white stone walls as knights of the Reach fought valiantly to defend the old keep. Such stories were meant to be written by learned men who had the experience of war she'd been told often enough, Goodwin still told her the old stories and taught her every scrap of history he knew once septa Roelle had refused to tutor her in anything but the acceptable subjects for high born daughters. His death had been a blow worse than her mothers, he'd believed in and nurtured her love of books beyond sewing, bringing her great volumes of history from the mainland at every chance.

Highgarden would be her temporary escape from her now noxious home life, no disapproving gazes, no discomfiture at being yet married and shoved off to please the lady of Evenfall. No, here she could write and lose herself entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

The old girl was shrewd, he'd begrudgingly give her that.

"Is this how you amuse yourself now that Mace is lord?"

"My dear boy no, that's what Vortimer is here for."

Jaime blanched at the image of Olenna Tyrell in the throes of passion, it was enough to put him off his tea and food for the remainder of his time in her home. He swallowed the bit of revulsion working its way up his throat and looked at the briar maze outside her study window.

"Brienne is a special case; her mother was dear to me and I shall not have her settled unhappily. If she has any objection to you I shall start over and find someone else for you. One of my roses is currently set to bloom and is more malleable."

Jaime inadvertently made a snort of disgust, malleable and ready to adopt the Lannister cloak for Tyrell gain more like. He'd glimpsed the girl this morning as she spirited away to the Mander, long legs encased in men's trousers and high boots, curiosity made him follow from the stables and he watched her as she divested herself of clothing. She stepped into a pool at the top of the river and swam for the better part of the hour, climbing out only after her face was red with exertion and her small clothes were plastered to her skin. She moved with grace and power in the water, much as he had done before losing his hand.

The arrangement should have been much simpler but he trusted Olenna with this completely, any number of lords quietly sung her praises in acquiring just the wife that suited them best, whether they seeked love, power, or wealth to add to a title. Merchants with new money who desperately needed to cleanse the stink off or high borns who needed to move up from their minor holdings. He would go along with her for now.

He stood up to escort her to her dinner party which had, he was certain, at least thirty people. Jaime was quite sure he would not be able to find three people who he could comfortably dine with and Peck had buried himself into one of the maids from the first week, disappearing unless summoned for work. Olenna's small hand tucked into his elbow and she led him down the gold and cream hallway, portraits of long dead Tyrells watching them make their journey. The noise from the dining room leaked through the doors, greeting them before they could be announced. He bowed to Olenna and kissed her hand resoundingly drawing a laugh and blush from his host before finding his seat next to one of the younger Tyrell cousins.

Renly was seated across from him and he bent his head in acknowledgment as Margaery walked in with a more appropriately dressed Brienne. A simple blue skirt with flowers, always flowers, along the hem paired with a well cut dinner jacket made to suit the long limbs and strong shoulders.

" _Enny_?" Renly choked as he pushed his chair back, rushing to greet the now blushing late arrival. "What are you doing here?"

Jaime watched him envelope her in a warm embrace, kissing her cheeks and hands profusely. Eyes wet with tears. He felt the urge to push the little milksop out of one of the many windows. The histrionics more suited for his lady wife who stood aside beaming at her distasteful husband.

  
"Was this why you've been disappearing wife? What a delightful gift you've brought to me."

The rest of the evening was spent listening to the cacophony of Tyrells, and quietly observing the strapping girl stare into her plate and gaze longingly at the door. She would do.

Singular blue eyes glared at him the next morning as he sat at the lip of the river after managing a brief satisfactory swim. "Good morning my lady."

Grim resignation forced her gaping mouth closed. The violent red of her skin had cooled to an uneven staining of pink. She was the ugliest woman, a girl really, Jaime had laid eyes on and the current dreadful glower did little to help her.

"My lord."

"Join me for a swim?"

"No thank you my lord, pardon the intrusion."

He stood to his full height and watched the violent red snake its way back to her face, eyes looking beyond him to a peach grove down river. They were of height, her edging him out by an inch, Jaime took in her thick neck and plump lips, the broken nose and the scores of freckles. He bade her to stay with him, donning his morning attire as she turned her back to let him dress.

They sat unchaperoned in the copse formed by the wild fireplum trees, the more he flattered the stonier her face became. He dropped the artifice when she bristled at an ill timed jest and called him kingslayer. His verbal assaults thereafter did little to disquiet her, she seemed to welcome them more readily than any of the sweet words he'd peppered her with. Finally asking what he wanted of her when he'd quieted from his tirade, demanding the truth with her mouth set in a weary line.

"I need a wife and heirs."

"And you want that of me?" Her unnerving eyes settled on his face fully, "I am a grotesque representation of my sex, lest you forget your words my lord."

"Yes, but you are a woman?" The scowl came and went in rapid succession as her large hands rested on one muscled thigh. "I need legitimate heirs my lady, once I have those you are free to do whatever it is you want. Stay in Casterly Rock, go back to Tarth."

"My place is no longer on Tarth, my father's lady wife has seen to that."

The marriage contract was drawn the day after Lord Selwyn arrived, with a special provision after the dowry was written out. He waited another week for the Lannisters to descend upon Highgarden to start the wedding festivities. He was certain Tyrion and Margaery had disappeared into the cellar for more than wine the night before the wedding, hooded, sated eyes met his as his dear brother sat beside him. Brienne had shown little interest in him, the wedding or their pending marriage after they had agreed to their own personal terms. There was  no giddiness or nerves as they stood in the sept or as they sat to eat the feast prepared. Course after course sat untouched and Jaime wondered if she held nerves after all. One goblet of water touched her lips all night until they were forced out of the ballroom and sent to consummate their marriage.


	4. Chapter 4

_"...get Lord Jaime NOW..."_

_"...why is there so much blood..."_

_"...she needs something for the pain sir..."_

_"Brienne, Brienne, it's Tyrion, it's just me, sssh, just a small drink..."_

_"...we need a wet nurse my lord, the babe needs to..."_

_"...Uncle Jaime you_ _must change, she cannot see you like this..."_

_"...Tyrion I have one bloody hand, how do you propose I pin her nappy?..."_

"Oh Cerenna look, there she is now."

Brienne's head felt too full and her husband's voice sounded too loud. A low groan made her flinch even as it left her parched throat. The room was thankfully dark and only two candles burned on the mantle over the fireplace, Lord Jaime's fireplace she realized and not her lady's quarters. They had moved her after, her recollection was a blur of the first pain and holding the girl child, realizing it was indeed a girl. Voices and hands the only tangible things she could recollect. The full ache in her stomach made itself known as she tried to move, a strong arm pushed her back against the pillows.

"None of that just yet my lady. You, my sweet girl, must go in your cradle, no crying or uncle Tyrion will come back."

At the sound of the baby's mewling, a wetness spread across her shift causing the garment to stick to her uncomfortably. She started feeling the dampness between her legs then and the faint stench of blood clung to her. Lord Jaime looked only modestly better than she felt, purple bruising under his tired green eyes. His valet had not seen to his face in days if the stubble currently marring his usually clean face were an indication. Brienne closed her eyes and tried to think but gave in to the deep pull to sleep again, her body felt as bruised as when she'd collided with a rock jumping from the waterfall back on Tarth.

"Is she well uncle?"

"Well enough, tell cook to boil water for the tub. Then fetch a clean gown from her rooms."

Strong arms lifted her to a sitting position and Brienne opened her eyes against bright morning light, closing them quickly and burying her face in Lord Jaime's neck without thought. He smelled of powder and curdled milk.

"Easy. Bring your legs round."

Warm water, Castile soap and a clean dressing gown helped to welcome her back. The yellowing bruises on her stomach startling her as much as Lord Jaime washing her from head to toe with no maids, not permitting anyone in the bathing rooms once he had all the necessary accoutrements. His hair had no pomade and the waves now turned to curling around his ears, the stubble more filled in than she remembered when she had awakened last. Fresh sheets replaced the old ones on the bed and the staff had aired out the room in swift order, opening up the heavier drapes and leaving the curtains closed. Lord Jaime left her to eat a heavy beef stew with his niece as he let his valet get him ready for the day.

He walked back in with only a clean shirt and his trousers, face still unkempt and only the more comely for it. He held the babe cradled in his right arm as he settled in beside her, positioning the small bundle on his thighs. They had not been so close since she was certain she was with child.

"Lady Cerenna Lannister meet your mother, Lady Brienne Lannister."

Green eyes looked up her inquiringly as Brienne took in her daughter's pale skin and pale lashes. "What happened?"

"There was hemorrhaging," a shadow crossed his features as he looked upon the babe, running a long finger down her nose before looking at Brienne again, "the midwife knew what to. The doctor says he would have done much the same. You need rest and nourishment to gain strength again. Lady Cerenna is very demanding when it's time to eat, her lungs are very strong for one so small."

They had never had occasion to share a room and Brienne found it unsettling to do so once she felt her strength returning. Night after night Lord Jaime would collect the babe from Myrcella, whom he'd brought from King's Landing to act as a helper of sorts, and carry her off to his rooms. He refused to let her sleep more than an arm's length away from him during night hours, forcing Brienne to share his bed. If her traitorous, wanton body would not react so strongly to his nearness she could rest well enough but found her sleep vexed each night. She had not expected his gentleness or kindness on their wedding night, or on the nights after. Weeks traveling the Ocean Road with his cousin Daven, and a host of other Lannisters that stayed at Casterly or in Lannisport.

That kindness was not in their contract and neither was the mounting desire she felt towards her husband. He had only sought her bed twice since she retreated to her rooms after she had quickened, the night before leaving for King's Landing to fetch Myrcella and upon his return when she had been of the mind that her protruding belly would put abeyance on such needs. Lord Jaime had no compunction in climbing into her bed and guiding her onto her knees, like a common dog, and taking his husbandly due. She had summoned every ounce of her mettle to silence her wanton gasps, only faltering at the very end when his stump settled on her hip and his left hand started their devilish ministrations on her sex. Warm air on her neck startled her from her thoughts, heat colored her face at being so thoroughly caught out.

"Wife, the babe should be the one rousing me from sleep."

"She sleeps well." Brienne responded witlessly, the press of her lord husband's bare chest against her back exacerbating her want of him.

"She has slept properly for well on two months now, your sleep however has degenerated into fits. Are you still feeling any pain? That should be done with now."

"The pain has not bothered me in some weeks."

"I'll send for the midwife tomorrow, just to be sure. You should be able to sleep comfortably. Daven is getting married in a fortnight and then coming back to Lannisport. One of Olenna's granddaughters, the freckled Redwyne girl. He wants to invest in the rail, the Westerlands and the Riverlands, more tracks and more stations." He rambled sleepily into her neck, his stump circling her middle as he settled for sleep once more.

"That is a sensible endeavor for him." Brienne held no poor opinion of Daven, he was frank but convivial and cared little for personal grooming. He was also slightly taller and enjoyed picking her up to spin her about when in his cups. He made Casterly Rock less dreary when in company with Tyrion.

"Stafford is pleased he has found any endeavor that doesn't include bedding anything that moves. How much would it displease you if we left the Rock and moved into one of the estates in Lannisport? I'd rather have Cerenna somewhere less gloomy."

It didn't displease her in the slightest, there were too many people at any one moment, that came and went in the vastness that was their home. Her writing had faltered being away from the quiet of Evenfall where no one had need of her. Lord Jaime had taken to having her read his correspondence in the evenings or writing his answers to the copious tenant complaints, dock work or other Lannister business. He had praised her capability only after goading her with sharp remarks or japes. No, Lannisport could not displease her, it would be a chance to cage her heart firmly back in her chest and stop whatever foolish notion was taking root.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for pulling the original update, I didn't like the way it flowed with the story and it didn't project the way I wanted it to. Thanks so much to Aerest and Quinn for all of their input and helping me get my brain and my fingers to work together. This chapter is a little bit longer than usual.

Jaime lay awake covering his face with his stump, trying not to strangle his aurochs of a wife. She would find comfort in one position for a moment and then make a frustrated noise in the back of her throat before shifting again. He was tempted to steal away to the library and sleep there if for only a moments peace. Cerenna had taken to sleeping with Myrcella once the enterprising babe figured out how her legs worked, climbing out of the cradle and dashing off for sport. He'd moved Myrcella into what had rightfully been Brienne's bedchamber so his daughters would only be down the hall, curled around each other like the cats he'd been forced to adopt. Had he been able to foretell the future, he would have kept the rooms for Brienne to ensure one night of uninterrupted sleep. 

When Brienne stifled a sniffle he thought again of Wylla's assurances that his wife was not in any pain and was fully healed. Wylla was the most experienced midwife in the Westerlands, and he did not doubt her, but something troubled his wife greatly. Each morning she woke paler than the one before and looked ready to jump through her own skin at the mere hint of provocation. Her apprehensiveness was enough to deal with when she secreted herself away from everyone daily, emerging only when propriety demanded it of her. 

"Wife," he started sharply, taking a breath to calm himself, "is anything the matter?"

"Lord Jaime..." she responded with a low moan that sent his cock into rigid attention.

"I think Jaime suffices well enough. Can you please tell me what is troubling you so that we may sleep?" He thought of every unpleasant thing that he could muster to ease the ache his wife's voice had started damning the day he agreed to limiting their union to the creation of heirs. The persistent rage at Cersei had clouded his judgment, and he was not a man to keep a mistress or frequent whores like Daven or Tyrion.

"No." She whispered into the air between them.

"No you cannot or no you will not?" 

"I cannot." She said petulantly, reminding him of how recalcitrant Cerenna could be when he dressed her now that she could move about. 

"Well, am I able to presume you are otherwise of sound mind and free of pain? Or should I request a carriage to Qyburn?" He rolled onto his side to find her on her back, arms crossed against her stomach in a protective manner. Jaime shook his head in exasperation, briefly giving thought to putting Brienne across his lap for her petulance like any lord husband was allowed to do but the image of his hand striking the firm flesh of her bottom sent a jolt down his spine. He forced his mind to go back to a steadier train of thought, the blood rushing to his lower body making it a difficult task. 

"I am perfectly sane." She scoffed at him.

He gave an inelegant snort at her assertion as he moved his body to settle over her, taking in the look of guilt before she turned her gaze away. The feel of her hips lifting up to meet his made him take an appraising look at her flushed face in the moonlight. 

"Tell me." 

A dozen thoughts crossed her face, each one weighed and discarded before he saw her settle with a response. Her tongue darted out to swipe her bottom lip and Jaime followed it intently, wishing to join it.

"I had not expected to share a bed with you, with anyone." Brienne murmured softly, her eyes making his chest catch with a feeling he couldn't place.

"Sharing a bed with me is what troubles you?" 

"Yes, no...I...we have a contract. I would not go against it."

The flush came back then, moonlight making her pale hair almost white. Jaime studied her rapid breathing and the subtle writhing of her hips wondering for the first time if Brienne wanted to make full use of the more pleasurable aspects of marriage too. He was sure she held a measure of regard for him and the prospect of her wanting to warm his bed heated his blood. 

Jaime brushed his mouth along her jaw, relishing the startled gasp that fell from her lips. He turned his attention to the strong column of her neck, trailing featherlight kisses down both sides as her hips thrust up to meet his, the miles of her practical and dowdy sleeping gown hiding the parts of her Jaime wanted to touch the most. He stretched out his hand until his fingers could stroke the inside of her wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. He let her feel the full weight of him, grateful for once that she could bear his weight with ease. 

"Do you wish to go against our contract?" Jaime teased against her collarbone, reaching down to pull her sleeping gown over her broad hips. It still amazed him that Brienne never flinched at the puckered flesh of his stump touching her, treating it as though it were normal. "Wife?"

Jaime ran the pad of his thumb against her folds, pressing lightly at the firm nub. The moan it provoked forced all thoughts of their contract away, his vision narrowed to his wife's face, the wide-eyed fear but also the clear alleviation. Each mild stroke of his fingers strangled her breathing, not experienced enough to complain about the lack of dexterity in his left hand. A dozen more firm strokes and he felt the warmth of her pleasure over his fingers. Her maddening efforts to silence her enjoyment made him feel mildly incensed. Months of sleepless nights and not even the decency to whimper. 

"Better?" Jaime pulled back to sit on his knees, easing her shift high on her stomach, smiling at her bewildered expression. He ran his stump along the soft flesh of her inner thigh, the muscles tensing at the slightest graze. The wish for two hands coming back as she tried to discreetly push her gown down to cover herself, one-handed men couldn't easily tear dresses or sleeping gowns.

"Yes, thank you." He waited for her to weigh and measure the rest of what she wanted to say, her heart still beating fast enough for him to see the vein in her throat moving. "You are still without your heir."

Jaime smiled as he pushed his small clothes over his hips, his dutiful, honor-bound wife would never be so brazen as to ask in plain terms, but he knew her meaning fully. 

She was still so tight when he thrust into the warmth of her, mind blanking momentarily as he reacquainted himself, wrapping her pale, moon-washed hair in his fist and pulling her into him to tease her mouth. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, tiny gasps escaping when he struck at just the right angle. Her wide, blown eyes were his undoing, and he only remembered to spill into the sheets at the last possible moment. Years of keeping Cersei from getting pregnant was his only aide in knowing what to do to not endanger Brienne. Both of their mothers had died in the birthing bed, and she had been so close to the same fate. Tempting the Stranger with another try seemed pointless. Selwyn had made Brienne his heir officially when Jaime refused the dowry, he would do the same for Cerenna.

She clung to him for a few desperate minutes but he felt her recede when the haze of their lovemaking wore off. Felt the loss of her long fingers from his shoulders as sure as he'd felt the loss of his hand. He pulled her shift back down, covering her against the cool air. Jaime waited until she was soundly asleep before holding her hand up to his mouth for a kiss. 

He slept until his valet woke him late in the morning, breakfast long over and Brienne down on the beach for her morning swim. The estate in Lannisport suited them much better than the rock ever could, his wife should have been born a mermaid with her effortless grace in the water, the only place she managed to look fully at ease and as if she belonged. She had been able to teach Myrcella to swim and now Cerenna demanded to wade about, pumping her little feet ineffectively on the shore. 

He watched from the balcony of his study while Peck recounted an issue with a farmer's daughter he'd have to address on Tyrion's behalf. His brother was brilliant with words, had the stomach for politics, but suffered from the same affliction as Jaime, finding the wrong women to give their hearts too. He stopped Peck to dictate a request to Olenna but then Brienne came out of the water, long legs wrapped in her ridiculous swim attire. When she bent down to pick up Cerenna his skin flushed at view, remembering the night he'd come back from King's Landing and she'd protested that her stomach would be in the way. Peck called his name a half dozen times before Jaime realized his secretary waited for the rest of the letter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, apologies for the super long delay in this update! There were changes to the direction of the story and while I had the end sorted, the middle would not come to me.
> 
> Thanks to Danyel and gummers for their support as I complained and huge thanks to Quinn for her insight and help with this chapter. 
> 
> The next two chapters will be up much quicker.
> 
> Second, I did change the trigger warning but there is no abuse or rape in this chapter, but there is a mention towards the middle for anyone who needs it. Xoxo 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own and will be fixed (eventually).

Brienne sat determinedly in her study, going through each letter she'd received and ignored for the last week. It was poor etiquette and spoke of ill breeding, but she had spent the better part of her marriage declining tea in drawing rooms to avoid listening to idle gossip and seeing the preening at being able to secure Lady Lannister, homely as she was, as a guest. The one exception was Daven’s new bride and Olenna’s granddaughter who lived near the estate and seemed less inclined to gossip that wasn't about her own family. Daven and Tyrion’s exploits at Casterly Rock were enough to scandalize even the most hedonistic of the Ironborn roaming around the Iron Islands.

 

Presently, Jaime and Tyrion were both in King’s Landing attending to one of the Lannister warehouses, and she'd been left to manage both the Lannisport estate and Casterly Rock, each daunting on their own, and terrifying when put together. Evenfall was a minor house, and the little she had learned at the foot of her father's desk in no way prepared her for the expansive duties as lady of Casterly Rock.

 

A knock at the door broke Brienne's concentration as she bid her housekeeper into the stufy, a tall, hawkish women whom Brienne could never do without. Mrs. Snow had come with the highest of recommendations from her previous house and the staff had taken to her firm but pleasant disposition. Brienne knew there were still snickers about her appearance from the newer staff and most of the male servants, but Mrs. Snow allowed no slander in her presence, reminding them how Lord Jaime would instantly send them away with no recommendation. One unlucky footman had even met with his fist before his second week.

 

“Is it time for lunch?” Brienne asked as she looked up while perusing a letter from Lady Olenna, this one on securing Brienne as a benefactor for a girl’s school, making Brienne push all other letters to the side.

 

“No, Lady Brienne, there is a septa in the parlor. She says she's answering an advertisement in the paper.” Mrs. Snow answered dubiously.

 

“Already? I hadn't thought to receive a response so soon.” Brienne said as she put down her pen and folded Olenna’s letter, unsure how someone found the energy to do so much. Her twentieth name day was not far off, and already she dreaded another fifty years of managing estates and going through accounts.

 

The septa was younger than Brienne expected, but handsome enough with kind eyes, and she carried herself as a lady would. She stood with some difficulty as Brienne entered, favoring one side of her body as though in pain. She seemed taken aback by either Brienne’s height, her face, or both but Brienne steeled herself and let the slight  roll away, she had a life of watching people’s unguarded first impression of her and tried to judge them on their second; this was for Myrcella and soon Cerenna, it would do no good to dismiss the septa quickly. Brienne thought of her own septa briefly, the harsh and ever cruel admonitions about Brienne’s preference for what Septa Roelle deemed unimportant and wasteful to teach a lady.    

 

“My lady, thank you for seeing me with no notice, Septon Raynard said you were in need of a septa, and I came as soon as morning prayers were over. I am Septa Lemore.” the woman said, offering Brienne a polite smile.

 

“Septon Raynard?” Brienne had not been to the great sept in Lannisport since Cerenna’s naming ceremony and anointing, preferring the family sept at Casterly Rock when she needed to spend time with the Mother or Crone.

 

“Yes, one of the maids told him you needed someone. She said this was a good house milady. Safe.” Septa Lemore said softly, making Brienne look the woman over again. Safety had never been a concern for any of the women employed for either house, Tyrion was known to cast a wide net for new lovers but Brienne had put a stop to that with the maids in Lannisport estate, what he did at Casterly Rock, she could not say but no one had left yet.

 

“I am glad he was able to send you. An advertisement was just put in the paper.” Brienne answered cautiously, unsure of what the septa was implying.

 

“No, my lady.” Septa Lemore said before a taking a steadying breath. “I was septa to another family and had to take my leave, right away. The conditions became untenable.”

 

“What made the conditions there untenable?” Lannisport was one of the better cities in Westeros and septas had been a respected by noble houses and merchants as far back as Aegon’s conquest, possibly before, Brienne could think of few things that could force a septa to leave her post.

 

“The gentleman of the house came home in his cups and found his way into my room, he said I was no septa and trying to pretend otherwise was a grievous mistake. It is true I have not always been a septa my lady but I have come to the faith after losing my family. He could not be reasoned with and I left after a struggle.” Septa Lemore said almost by rote, looking through Brienne instead of at her.

 

“I see.” Though in truth, she did not. Brienne knew maids could be at the mercy of the lords of their houses; her father's lady wife had watched even the older scullery maids suspiciously, knowing her husband had frequent dalliances, though he would never take a woman against her will. Not all men were so scrupulous. The thought of a man setting himself upon a woman of the faith made her blood burn.

 

“What need do you have of me, my lady?” the septa asked after Brienne had been to taken aback to say anything further, lost in her own private outrage.

 

“You would be in charge of Myrcella, Lord Jaime’s neice. She is an intelligent child and needs tutoring in all areas, not just those relegated to female children. She prefers botany and astrology to arithmetic.” Brienne stated frankly, if there were any objections, the search would simply continue.

 

“Not music or sewing, my lady?” Septa Lemore asked, frowning slightly.

 

“She can learn those, but she prefers studying botany, the stars, sailing, and reading serials. She's in the gardens with her cousin now and prefers spending her days in the glasshouse. There is a library here and another at Casterly Rock which Lord Tyrion oversees. You will find a full collection to work with.”

 

Brienne waited stiffly in her chair, there were a great many things expected of ladies that she would never be able to do. There were also things that she was better at doing but had never been given the change, Septa Roelle made sure of her exclusion. However, she could do this for both girls and for those who would no doubt flock to Olenna's school given the opportunity. Brienne could ensure that those wanting more than an idle life of tea parties and afternoons in one parlor or another could learn of swords, science, the sea and one day, possibly join learners at the Citadel to become masesters in whatever they desired. If this septa were opposed, she would find others, even ladies of smaller houses who needed a salary were now available.

 

“I would be honored, my lady. I prayed to the Mother and she has shown me mercy.” Septa Lemore agreed.

 

“Mrs. Snow will be able to show you your quarters, and I'll be able to give you a proper tour after supper.” Brienne said as relief washed over her, it was a small step but her father had said those were the most important. One small, good step could lead to greater steps.

 

The rest of the month passed with Brienne still going through the household ledgers, making notations and watching Myrcella and Cerenna antagonize each other. Septa Lemore introduced herself into their daily routines easily. Collecting Myrcella after their morning swims to explore the shells and any small animals that came up on shore. Books moved from Casterly Rock frequently as they explored animals and plants alike.

 

A letter from Jaime requesting that she make her way to King’s Landing excited her more than Brienne she would permit herself to acknowledge.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We make it to King's Landing

The Old Gate Station was nearly empty when Brienne's train pulled in, four hours late and well past the time for dinner. Jaime was grateful at once for his wife's overly tall stature, getting a glimpse of her broad face with Cerenna tucked into her neck when she stepped down onto the platform. Myrcella’s small hand was firmly clasped in her larger one as Brienne moved to look for him, Jaime expected a retinue of nurses, maids and footman to come next, remembering the circus of Cersei's travel demands. No such army came forward and he stood in awe, forgetting how minimally a Stormlander could travel, even with children.

One of their footmen came forward with a trunk that wouldn't have held shoes enough for Cersei, much less dresses for a fortnights stay in King’s Landing, the contrast one he hated to actively think about. His hatred of her betrayal did nothing to dissolve her presence in his thoughts, no matter how much he wished it, there was still love there and he'd spent his whole life thinking of Cersei and what she would want or do. He cursed himself for a fool as he made his way through the throng of irritable passengers, shouts of protest at the delay filling his ears as he looked up to see Brienne lifting Myrcella on her other side. The swell of people collecting passengers pushing them further away from the train.

“I have one good hand if you need it my lady.” Jaime quipped as he took in the gray travel dress and dusty boots, he was sure it was the very first thing he'd seen her in back in Highgarden.

“Oh, Jaime, thank you.”

“Where is the rest of your luggage?” Jaime asked as he leaned in to take Myrcella. Noting that the footman had made no move to go back on the train.

“Everything is here.” Brienne answered as she tried to stifle a yawn.

Jaime instructed the footman to stay until he could send in the carriage driver to help with the trunk, unwilling to attempt with only one hand. Brienne was asleep before they pulled out into the dark of King's Landing's still busy streets, the lights of the Street of Silk illuminated the pale blonde hair that sat undone on her shoulder. His fingers twined the ends restlessly as the carriage bumped along, Casterly House still a distance away.

They were bustled in and descended upon when the carriage pulled up to the gates, Selmy hoisting Myrcella out of the carriage and up the steps with a terse nod to Jaime as he handed Cerenna over to one of the nurses waiting at the steps. Jaime dismissed everyone else as he turned back for Brienne, counting each freckle along her forehead before gently tugging her awake. Without the persistent scowl he was reminded of just how young his wife truly was, too young for the likes of him.

He waited until the maids helped her out of her traveling dress and shoes to come back to his chambers, the smooth lines of her back leading down to her muscled bottom made his heart thump against his rib cage. The trip had exhausted her, he knew it, could see the slump in her shoulders as she wiped her face and hands but Jaime wanted her under him, writhing and flushed pink. The ceaseless protests from his warehouse workers drifted away as he traced his tongue up her spine, her low groan making him grow rigid.

“Are you too tired?” Jaime breathed against her ear, his fingers finding her slick and ready as he eased two fingers in and curved them up. A dozen strokes rewarded him with the warmth of her release, a choked sob getting through her tightly pressed lips. He pushed her small clothes off and led Brienne to his bed, high enough off the ground to level them perfectly as she sat on the edge, waiting.

One deep thrust made Brienne's head jerk backwards and her fingers grab the sheets below her in a vice grip. Jaime took advantage and latched onto her neck with avid interest, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed into her furiously, forgetting she was a lady. Forgetting everything but the hard slap of his skin against hers and the sound of his name finally falling from her lips. His handless arm worked hard to keep her sitting up, giving up when his breath quickened and he felt warmth spreading through his body, pulling out in time to spill on the inside of her thighs. Jaime kissed her wordlessly, uncomfortable with the sudden ache in his chest at her sitting in front of him sated and flushed.

Jaime woke to an empty bed in the morning, finding Brienne in the dining room with Tyrion and the godsforsaken Tyrells, the plain silver and blue dress made her eyes seem bluer, more sapphire as she looked up to greet him, the blush working its way up her face more arousing than it had a right to be.

“My favorite brother, we are no longer the most hated business in Westeros, at least for today the Starks have us thoroughly beaten.” Tyrion almost gushed from his raised chair.

“Someone hates a Stark?” Jaime asked as he took his seat, signaling for coffee as he grabbed the paper from Tyrion's hands.

“There was an explosion in one of their coal mines. Dreadful business, twelve men dead, most married. It makes our wage issue at the factories a pittance. No woman will die sewing a hat or a hat box.”

“That's a terrible thing to say Tyrion.” Brienne admonished his brother quietly as she picked up her tea cup. “Those men had families and were doing honest work.”

“Now dear good sister, have faith, I feel wretchedly but we've been beleaguered for months with this wage issue.”

“An issue you could easily remedy if only you paid the women properly. They are doing the same work and should have the same pay.” Margaery interrupted, staring pointedly at Jaime first, then Tyrion. “Don't you agree Brienne?”

“Yes.” His wife said, startling him away from the sentence he was rereading a third time to gather its meaning. “It would be the right thing to do.”

“Well that settles that dear brother, three months of fighting and a month of stopped production only to be squeezed by these lovely ladies. Should we have them go over the contracts for the new railway?” Tyrion winked at Margaery as he joked, buttering his toast and looking happier than Jaime had seen him in months.

“Yes, we should, I have it on good authority that my wife is well versed in reading contracts. It looks like Ned is setting up a pension for the widows.” Jaime said, finally putting the words together in proper order in his mind.

“Gods, enough about Ned Stark, he is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others. The only interesting member of that family is the one that jilted his bride. The Frey girl.”

“Have you seen the Frey girls?” Loras jeered. “I had the misfortune of meeting Gatehouse Ami, in order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily, to anyone.”

Jaime stopped listening to the chatter around the table, concentrating on Brienne as her eyes bounced from Margaery to Tyrion, shaking her head or covering a laugh with her cup. Her aloofness was evident, only joining in when prodded by Margaery and occasionally Tyrion. He excused them from the table when he'd had his fill of the increasing innuendo and walked with Brienne through the gardens. He listened intently as she spoke of what she'd been up to in his absence, all of it tedious and said haltingly as she looked around.

He sent word to the factory via Peck that the strike was over, they would settle on wages in two days time. There was too much lost production and his father would have never let it run on this far, though Jaime thought ruefully, his father would have taken a strap to the workers or fired the women they employed just to teach them a lesson. He was tired of fighting, half a day with Brienne had settled him, pushed his world back on its axis.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will also be Jaime's POV. I had to break it up into two parts.


	8. Chapter 8

“I'm positive it won't bite.”

His words fall on deaf ears as Brienne fingers the silk fabric across her lap. It's not something he'd expect her to buy but the blue brings out her eyes. When Brienne does look up, Jaime frowns.

“What is it Brienne?”

“Nothing. Are you ready to sleep?”

“You're a terrible liar my lady. Did your dinner with Margaery not go well?”

“Dinner was lovely. I was just foolish to think we had a friendship. I am a joke to her.”

Jaime was not fond of Margaery Tyrell, she was tolerable in the smallest possible doses. She had however seemed genuine in her affection for Brienne.

“Why would you say that? Margaery seems happy to have your company. She rings for you every afternoon to do Seven knows what.”

The truth of it burned his chest, a petty jealousy of not being able to monopolize Brienne's time. She'd come to the factories with him a few mornings and met some of the junior clerks at the bank. He'd thought to have her with him during the day, knowing she would sit in the gardens or the study until either he or Tyrion came round otherwise. Margaery would not hear of it, soft smiles and gentle coaxing had brought his wife out to the new lending library and even the theater one evening.

Brienne holds the offending fabric up for Jaime to inspect, the silk slips through his fingers like water, cool and delicate. The delicate sleeping gown one a kept mistress would lounge in, or a more worldly woman. Nothing his wife would ever choose to wear on her own. Her white cotton shift as familiar to him as his own nakedness.

“A sow in a silk dress.” Brienne grits out with more bitterness and vulnerability than Jaime thought her capable of. “It will provide a good laugh I'm sure.”

“Brienne, this is pure silk,” Jaime retorts. “The only place Margaery would be able to purchase this is in Essos or a silk artisan in King’s Landing. If it is a joke, it's a bloody expensive one for a sleeping gown she's never going to see you in. I'm sure Renly stood for hours to get your measurements just right.”

“A sleeping gown? Why would one wear a silk sleeping gown?”

“To seduce their husbands in the bedchamber of course.” His mind goes to Cersei and her favorite red silk and lace sleeping gown, pushing the thought away before it can take root.

Jaime puts the gown on the back of Brienne's chair, watching her frown as the brush works through her hair. The thin braid unraveling under her large fingers.

“I wish she had not wasted her money.”

Jaime nods in agreement behind her, stump resting on the soft gown. “That she did, your husband prefers you divested of everything except a healthy blush and sweat.”

The brush scatters out of her hands, a healthy pink flush covering Brienne's neck and face. Jaime sees the pulse in her throat beating hard, the urge to run his tongue across it strong. A pain stronger than his desire lances through his stump, a wave of nausea follows, making Jaime clutch his right arm to his chest. Brienne is out of her chair and cradling him to her side when he can think again. His cumbersome steel hand made a better sight than the stump but it had started to chafe.

Gentle hands ease him onto the bed, holding his stump away from his body until his back is touching fluffed pillows. One pale, freckled breast is visible under Brienne's open robe but her mind is elsewhere and Jaime looks until Brienne turns away to go for the milk of the poppy.

“Drink. All of it.”

Warmth starts in his chest and flows outwards. Whatever dose Brienne put in his cup is too much, the need to sleep closing his eyes against his will. “Don't go to sleep wife.”

“Rest Jaime.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. Just please get some rest.”

“I want a kiss.”

“When you wake.” He can see the blush even as Brienne blurs in his vision.

“You can fuck me but you will not kiss me. Don't look at me like that. You seem to enjoy my cock readily enough now, just not me.”

“That is beneath you my lord.”

“I’d much rather be beneath you my lady. Shall we try?”

Jaime can feel his breathing slow down, the urge to fight now futile. Peck would have given him a manageable dose, enough to dull the pain without the sleep effect. The weeks the military had forced him to drink it put Jaime out of sorts. He had never been sure if was what happening around him was real or a poppy dream.

Brienne is solid and real next to him, her hip pressing into his side while she wipes the sweat from his brow. Her robe is tied once more, denying his the sight of her breast. Still round with milk, making them just big enough to spill through his fingers when he palms one or the other.

“Do you have any moon tea?”

“What? Lord Jaime, go to sleep.”

“I haven't been careful with you. There could be a child.”

Guilt washes over him as he sees Brienne pale and lifeless on the birthing bed, blood everywhere, he thought of Cerenna growing up like Tyrion, knowing that her birth had caused her mother's death. A guilt he had tried to admonish Tyrion out of when he became too morose. Never quite succeeding.

Jaime feels his mouth moving, sees the scowl on Brienne's face and hope he's said something lascivious enough to make her blush to her toes. The dull thump of pain receding as the milk of the poppy finally puts him to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This delay was much longer than I originally anticipated. Apologies. Thank you to everyone who has read and left comments even as I slogged through getting my story together.

Brienne could still feel the crunch of Mr. Tarly’s nose shooting up her arm. Anger coursing through in such waves she was certain anyone walking alongside her felt them too. The anger was at herself, for behaving in a manner so unbefitting and at Tarly for being odious. His thoughts on her and on Jaime had been unwelcome but no more insulting than she was used to. The moment her fist shot out, Septa Roelle’s lessons on docility swam to the forefront, reminding her briefly of her place. Then she’d called Tarly a bastard and walked out.

She was late now, supper over at least an hour ago. The sun was gone and she’d only just found the right street to take her home from the university. Anger had made her walk in circles before she’d calmed herself enough to realize she was hopelessly lost. A fisher woman taking pity and setting her on the right path. Brienne had pressed the only coin she’d had into the woman’s hand.

By the time she reached the manse two men from the City Watch stood outside. Brienne’s heart sank. Quiet, docile wives did not bring men of law to their front door.

“Brienne! Seven Hells, where have you been?” Tyrion croaked, grabbing her hand as soon as Brienne walked through the door. More men she had never seen before were gathered in the parlor. “Jaime’s called the whole bloody lot of the City Watch to find you.”

“F-f-find me?” Brienne stammered, confusion and dread warring in her head.

“You’ve been gone all day, when you Margaery said you’d taken your leave,” Tyrion stopped himself, patting her hand instead. “Go, your husband is in the study. Peck and I will dismiss Janos and his lot.”

The evident relief on Lord Jaime’s as he held her shoulder felt more intimate than it had a right to. Brienne was grateful when his face settled back into something harder to understand but easier to look upon.

“Where have you been?”

“At the university. There was a notice in the library that there would be a lecture on the moonbloom, I thought to take notes for Myrcella. The vice chancellor informed me that women could not be in attendance,” Brienne said as she fingered the forgotten leather journal in her hand. “I lost my way trying to get back on foot. I was distracted.”

The embrace was quick and surprising, the feel of the day’s growth of his beard scratching her skin as he kissed the exposed side of her neck. Brienne felt the now familiar stir in her belly, and let her anger channel itself into a different kind of combat. The damned smirk on Jaime’s face as she straddled him ignited the need to silence him too.

When Brienne came back to herself the study was quiet save for heart pounding in her ears. Sweat made the bodice of her dress cling to her chest and arms and she could feel it pooling in the small of her back. The few tears that managed to leak out mingled with sweat, making it easier to sit up and wipe her face with the hem of her cloak.

“My lady, forgive me for looking a gift horse in the mouth, but did you get lost in one of Tyrion’s favored establishments on your way back?” Jaime panted. Bright, green eyes took in her face, followed the flush that started from her toes and worked up to the roots of her hair. “What happened?”

“I’ve done an unforgivable thing,” Brienne started, stopping Jaime’s arm from rubbing small circles around her navel. “I did go to the university, I only wanted to listen Prince Doran’s lecture. Vice Chancellor Tarly had me escorted to his office and said I was a distraction to the lecturer. Even with my unfortunate appearance...”

“Did he?” Jaime interjected. Green eyes going colder than the winter she’d spent at Winterfell as a girl.

“Yes. He said lecture halls filled with men were unsuitable for a woman of my position and only certain women would feel so comfortable amongst a bevy of men. I hit him, like how Goodwin taught me. Then I fled.” The lie came out easier than she’d dared hope. Guilt still managed to lodge itself firmly.

“You? You hit someone? Where did you hit him?” The smile hit Brienne in chest making her turn her head away again. No one could ever say there was a resemblance between the Lannister brothers but when they genuinely smiled, one would know them as brothers. Joy softened them. Joy made her want more.

“This amuses you? My lord, I hit someone. He could have me arrested. No matter how terrible he is. It would have been best to remain in Lannisport.”

“Let me worry about Tarly. Though I don’t know if I should thank him or have him left in Flea Bottom. Anger suits you well, wench.”

“I am not a wench.” Brienne hissed at him, turning on the floor to get up. The journal now under the large desk. Her cloak rested under her still smirking husband. Her dress was in enough of a state of distress to need mending.

“The lioness has claws, I fear I am rubbing off on you _Lady_ Brienne Lannister. Knocking old men about and scandalizing your poor maimed husband. Ignore Tarly, for my sake if not yours.”

“He’s no different from all the rest.” Brienne sighed, letting Jaime pull her back to the floor, managing to undress each other this time.


	10. Chapter 10

Tyrion’s green and black eyes read over the deeds whilst Jaime stared in impatience. He had tried to read them himself and gave up when the letters started dancing about in odd pairs.

“Why, dear brother, do you assume my beloved good sister is being anything but honest?”

“Brienne is dreadful at lying. If my nose is still unbroken...”

“You forget you’re Jaime Lannister, not to old to cause scorn, unbearably handsome with immeasurable wealth.. Proposing marriage to a less than desired maiden well, that buys a stay of execution or an intact nose.” Tyrion’s self-satisfied grin coupled with the slight to Brienne made Jaime growl in the back of his throat. Tyrion only grinned harder.

“There’s nothing Randall Tarly could have said to Brienne that I haven’t let slip. She would more readily welcome a slight than a compliment, she dislikes false niceties.”

The thought had weighed heavily on him as he pictured Brienne lost or dead in the streets of King’s Landing. To be distressed enough to get lost meant Tarly had managed a feat even Jaime had dared not.

“You amuse me so. The answer is obvious if you would think for a moment,” Tyrion laughed at Jaime’s glare. Tapping his fingers on the passage Jaime needed. “Brienne may not be your twin, but she is far more like you than the one who shared the womb with you. If she did indeed break the wretched man’s nose, it would be in aid of someone she holds dear.”

When he takes a seat opposite Randyll Tarly, the man is the picture of austerity, poised and foolish enough to misjudge how little power he truly wielded. The bruising around his nose the only indicator of the meeting with Brienne.

“Mr. Tarly.”

“Vice chancellor Tarly,” he grumbles.

“You’ll not hold that position after I leave this chair,” Jaime informs Tarly, Tywin’s spirit settling into the base of his skull, making Jaime pull on the coldness inside of him . “You’ve upset my wife. I’d like to know how. A few careless insults from the likes of you are hardly enough to bring forth any reaction.”

“If your wife was upset, it would be no fault of mine,” Tarly seethes, “if she is unable to govern her emotions, it speaks poorly of you.”

“I...see. I was going to enjoy this a bit more but you’ve put me off of spending even a moment longer with you. Let’s make this short shall we? Do you know who the biggest patron of this college is my dear man?”

Watching Randyll Tarly deflate like a woman’s dress without the hoops pleases Jaime immediately, though Tarly doesn’t cower as a lesser men might. Jaime hammers the final nail swiftly, sliding over the mortgage deed for Horn Hill across the desk, knowing he can’t force the man to pay the debt, but delighting in the fact that Tarly thinks he will. Brienne would never hear of it.

“This is it then Lannister?”

“This is but a reminder that you have a family, a daughter you have to come up with a dowry for. Remember this deed the next time you encounter my wife. Good day ser.”

“It will do you well to remember, Lord Lannister, that I saw Stannis Baratheon’s letter. You too have a daughter to think about.”

The walk back to his office is uneventful, but Jaime takes his time. Mulling over Tyrion’s guess that Tarly provoked Brienne by mentioning Myrcella’s true parentage. She had treated him well in the days since her encounter and just this morning, had asked after a bank clerk taken ill and promised to go pick up the ledgers for the hat factory. Nothing in her behavior indicated a change towards him and yet, he worried. He cared more for Brienne than he would admit, even to himself. The sense of dread lingers throughout the day making Jaime stay at the bank well past dinner, leaving Peck to book Tyrion’s passage on the next ship to Essos to meet with Daven. The first rail was going to be constructed by Lannister from Braavos to Pentos, Jaime and Tyrion had managed something even the great Tywin Lannister could not do. Trains were the future and Jaime saw the expansion of the Lannister name in the railway industryif they capitalized in Essos now.

By the time the carriage leaves him at the front door, Jaime is ready for bed, nodding at the young boy manning the door and greeting Barristan with a firm handshake.

“Princes Doran and Oberyn paid a visit today. I’m afraid at least two of the scullery maids and one of the cooks were absconded.”

Jaime smirks at Barristan, “So he did receive my note, good. Do I dare ask if I still have a wife?”

“My lady Brienne was the only one not taken with Prince Oberyn. It’s Lady Cerenna you have to worry about my lord,all smiles for Prince Charming. He has a way with the ladies, and the gentlemen if I may speak plainly.”

“As long as my wife remains. Speaking of the Lady of Lannister, where might I find her?”

“Jeyne was readying her for bed last I knew, she spent the day trying to keep the maids from losing their heads and their smallclothes and helping Lady Myrcella in the greenhouse. The ledgers from the hat factory are on your desk as well.”

Barristan’s disdain makes Jaime grin, heartened that all was as it should be.


End file.
